


In Case of Bitter, Add a Little Sugar

by Toxin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - High School, And very bad customer service ethiquette, F/M, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Headstrong Erica, High School AU, Nerd Boyd, OOC everyone, Oblivious Boyd, Popular Erica, Rated T for ocassional swearing, coffee shop AU, lots of sass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-13 23:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7142378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toxin/pseuds/Toxin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boyd is the exasperated lonesome ranger that reluctantly braves the halls of Beacon Hills High. Erica is the girl who unwittingly reigns over them. It should be your average daytime rom-com. Only, Boyd is a sarcastic little shit who likes to mess with people through the power of coffee, and everyone is a tad too bitchy for things to go smoothly.</p><p>Featuring  a blonde leather fetishist on a mission, some very questionable customer service and one very flamboyant Isaac Lahey.  Oh, and a Vernon who is very much done with everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Case of Bitter, Add a Little Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Caeden (queerly-I-am-right on Tumblr) for once again putting up with my procrastination and being the awesome beta you are. Also, thank you to the organizers of the Glomfest for making this happen, I had a blast!
> 
> Finally, this is for anon, who requested a Nerd!Boyd/Popular!Erica Coffee shop AU. I'm not sure that's what you had in mind, but I hope you'll enjoy it!

The first thing Boyd sees as he turns the corner of Baker Street and Main at the ass crack of dawn is Isaac Lahey lying in a fetal position in front of Beacon’s Brew, moaning pathetically. For a few seconds right then, Boyd considers turning around and going back to bed, because really, he has better things to do than deal with a re-enactment of whatever woe-is-me over dramatic sitcom is presently popular with his fellow student peers.

There’s a reason Boyd doesn’t like people. The first of which is laying on the steps of a coffee shop, pretending not to be looking through almost shut eyes at Boyd while his moans of so called pain steadily and embarrassingly increase in volume.

Dignity. Isaac has none.

Rolling his eyes, Boyd brushes his glasses higher up and marches over to the puddle of blond curls and drama queen antics that’s currently decorating his workplace’s entrance, which he proceeds to step over in order to unlock the door. In truth, he also somewhat purposely kicks Isaac in the stomach in the process, but if ever the idiot calls him out on it, he’ll claim it was an accident.

Really though, the momentary break in Isaac’s number makes any doubts Boyd might have had about physical violence evaporate in an instant.

“Please, just leave me here to die.” Isaac screeches suddenly, halfway sitting up before collapsing back down, head rolling to the side and falling completely still and silent. Unfazed, Boyd hurriedly looks around to check if anyone might have been drawn in by Isaac’s nonsense, then checks again to make sure no one would witness his murder of one Isaac Lahey.

“Just get up.” Boyd sighs, keeping the door open. Isaac doesn’t move an inch.

“I quit.” Isaac whimpers instead, mouth moving but body remaining twisted at some odd angle. For a moment there, Boyd worries Isaac might actually fall asleep like this. Here, on a public street. Not that Isaac would have any qualms about being indecent, clearly.

“This is your first day.” Boyd forces out instead, refusing to give in to Isaac’s demands for attention by keeping his face void of emotion and voice in clear customer service territory. The slightly cheerful inflation in his voice tastes horrible coming out of his mouth, and even Isaac drops the act to look at Boyd and make sure he’s okay.

Detecting nothing wrong after having left his eyes skim over Boyd for a brief moment, he sits up on his elbows and groans again loudly, making Boyd die a little more inside.

“What kind of job requires us to get to work at fifteen to _four_ ? In the _morning_?” Isaac asks, eyes getting pitifully big and bottom lip wobbling slightly.

And that’s Boyd’s limit. Turning around, he slips in the door and walks across the shop, not in the mood anymore to care about whether or not Isaac will follow or stay outside to beg for attention from someone else than Boyd. Boyd kind of hopes for the latter, if he’s to be honest. His morning would probably be easier without Isaac in it.

Still, it doesn’t surprise him when he hears the chimes atop the door clang together as Isaac stumbles into the sitting area, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Isaac is all spectacle and scarfs, but the reason Boyd had finally vouched for him to his boss is because Isaac usually comes through in the end. He’s a decent worker, and Boyd knows Isaac worked at the cemetery for ages, so any criticism Isaac might have about this particular job is made completely moot by the fact that he used to make a living out of handling post-mortem comfort.

Then again, customer service is hard to beat in terms of horrible career decisions, and dead clients are probably easier to please than grumpy snobs in need of coffee.

“We open the shop early in the morning,” Boyd explains slowly as he starts taking down the mismatched oak chairs from their perch on the shabby tables, making sure to enunciate every syllable dramatically. So what if he’s being a little shit, Isaac could handle it. “Because people usually drink their coffee _in the morning._ ”

“Whatever.” Isaac answers, already taking it upon himself to start taking chairs down and setting the tables like Boyd is doing, much to Boyd’s silent pleasure. “No one should be allowed up this early. Let them wait until six, or like, here’s an idea. Why don’t the fuckers _sleep in_?”

“Jobs? Obligations? Life? Do you really need me to run down the reasons why people won’t wait for you to have had your beauty sleep before going on with their schedule?”

“Aw, you think I’m beautiful?” Isaac bats his lashes and suddenly twirls, nearly losing his balance and misses knocking himself out on one of the crooked tables by an inch. Boyd looks on, unimpressed.

“I just think that however much time you slept last night wasn’t long enough for your beauty mask to sink in. You still have that crap on the side of your face.” Boyd points towards his own chin and watches, amused, as Isaac’s eyes widen and he frantically wipes his sleeve over his neck. When the sleeves comes out of it clean, Boyd finally lets a satisfied smirk settle on his face.

Isaac glowers back at him, finally realizing he just outed himself and huffs.

“Whatever, skin care is important and fuck if I’m going to make it through today without looking Lush & Luminous.”

“You want to look luminous? Flip the switches on the wall over there and turn on some lights, will you? You can look radiant while exercising a minimum of productivity.” Boyd widens his grin as he makes his way to the counter.

Some days it dawns on Boyd that he really isn’t the nicest person, and those days usually make Boyd particularly happy.

At least, he feels that way up until he walks into the back room and finds the old storage cupboard locked. With the key missing.

“For fuck sake.” Boyd glowers, thinking maybe if he gets pissed enough the key will magically reappear.  All their coffee beans, sugar, cream and other ingredients to make their drinks and pastries is kept in the storage space. There is literally nothing they can serve without that key.

“What is it?” Isaac asks, jumping on his toes behind Boyd’s frame to try and see the problem, and the way his breath tickles the back of Boyd’s neck quickly becomes too irritating for Boyd to handle. Boyd barely resists the urge to elbow him out of the way.

“Stilinski closed to store last night,” _Of fucking course he did, who else would be this stupid?_ “And he left with the key to the coffee stuff.”

“Does that mean we don’t have to work today?” Isaac whispers excitedly, and Boyd rolls his eyes to the heavens.

He never asked for any of this shit.

“No. It means you have to handle the counter and tell clients to be patient while I go over to that little bugger’s house and get the key.” Boyd states, already zipping up his jacket by the time Isaac’s brain kicks into gear and he collapses on the floor to hold onto one of Boyd’s legs.

“What? No!” Isaac screeches as he’s dragged across the wooden floorboards when Boyd starts walking towards the door with barely a limp caused by Isaac’s childishness. “You can’t leave me here alone! You haven’t trained me yet! What if I mess something up, or run away with the cash register?”

“You don’t have the password to the cash register, and you won’t be doing anything while I’m gone. You’ll just tell the clients to be patient – if there are clients that come by at all – and I’ll be back before you know it.” Boyd states, already starting to unwrap the fashionista brace from around his leg. But Jesus, if Isaac’s gip gets any tighter, Boyd might be eligible for the casting of the House MD remake he’s been hearing about.

“No! I can’t handle clients alone! They’ll be angry that I don’t have their coffee! I can’t handle that kind of pressure, Vernon, I can’t! They’ll scream at me and eat me alive, or worse, they’ll make me cry or break out into acne and I’m gonna _die._ ” Isaac holds on harder to Boyd’s leg, and Boyd decides to stop trying to free himself in case Isaac decides to raise his hands higher and hold onto more effective body parts for leverage.

“Isaac, someone has to go get that key.” Boyd says slowly, subtly checking his cellphone. The store officially opens in seven minutes, and Stiles’ house is maybe eight minutes away, ten tops. There would only be twenty minutes of waiting maximum, and god knows no one actually comes in for coffee this early anyway.

“I’ll go! I had to drive him there that one time his jeep was locked up at the pound for being evidence in a murder investigation, I know where he lives!” And really, Boyd has no idea what to answer to that, except –

“No.” Boyd crosses his arms over his chest and glares down at Isaac. “I have no way of knowing you won’t be running off to bed.”

“I swear I’ll be good, I’ll be right there and back! See? I’m heading there now!” Isaac suddenly let’s go off his hold and jumps up, effortlessly dodging Boyd’s attempts to get a hold of him like he was born to Zumba and races out the door. “I’ll be right back!”

And then he’s gone.

Great, Boyd thinks as he glares at the ceiling, a part of him hoping it would catch fire and kill him with it. As if the day hasn’t had a shitty enough start. He hates dealing with customers, and his only hope of passing it on to another soul has made a break for it.

At least it couldn’t really get much worse from here on out.

Famous last words.

Isaac’s barely made it out the door (okay, so it might be a bit of an exaggeration) when their first client walks in. And because someone up there really truly hates Boyd, of course he recognizes who she is.

“Hi,” Erica Reyes yawns as she blearily looks down at her phone. For some reason, Boyd finds himself faltering at the sight of the girl and how she traded her usual couture for a pair of worn sweats and a too big hoodie. “I’ll have a-”

“No.” Boyd says. And wow Vernon, do you want that Social Failure in a trio? “I mean – No. Please.”

Great.

It comes with Idiocy salted fries and a large drink of Public Embarrassment, apparently.

There’s a silent moment where Erica and Boyd just look at each other in absolute silence, no one knowing how to address _that_ and Boyd not really caring to address it all. Then, Erica slowly lifts her left hand up, lets the large sleeve slip past her fingers and fall down to her elbow, and carefully moves a strand of hair back towards her mess of a bun to better see Boyd. Or, more likely, to allow Boyd a better view of the delicate eyebrow rising steadily higher and higher on her face.

It’s quite impressive how high it reaches before it finally stops, actually. It reminds him of something he must have seen on Discovery Channel: Predator Edition, only it can’t be, can it? Do animals even have eyebrows?

“Actually,” She says, and wow, the eyebrow raises higher still, how is that possible? “Yes, I will.” The purse of her lips dares Boyd to disagree.

The thing about Erica Reyes, at least in so far as Boyd remembers, is that she didn’t always come off as this terrifying. In fact, he remembers her in middle school, when the only person picked after Boyd in gym class was Erica herself. He used to pretend it was because they both had awesome comic book lunch bags and the rest of the class felt threatened, but then, he also remembers when the whole town was talking about how miraculous it was when her parents had found out her epilepsy episodes weren’t a condition, but rather a symptom of something much more curable, and how people, and Erica herself, started acting differently after that.

He also remembers exactly when she started being scary. It involved a broken nose and a subsequent election as spring fling queen, and the start of a competitive friendship with one Lydia Martin. And the heels, but Boyd has always refused to analyze in debt whether the shivers he gets seeing Erica claim the halls on four inches of weaponry is due to fear or something else.

All that to say, either because Boyd remembers Erica from before her hotter version of a Captain America-fication or because he likes to pretend he’s unaffected by the Friday the 13th re-enactment that is Beacon Hills High’s status quo, Boyd doesn’t flinch.

“No. You won’t.” And because it's _four o’clock in the fucking morning_ and Boyd despises life anyway, he adds: “This coffee shop prides itself on serving drinks of good taste.”

In hindsight, he should have known better.

“I _beg_ your fucking _pardon?_ ” Erica drops both hands on the counter as though she’s getting ready to jump it and Boyd glares right back, wondering once again why the hell Isaac why isn’t here to deal with this instead of him. “You don’t even know what I was going to order!” She seethes.

“You always order a Soothing Wake, actually. All sugar and milk, but without any actual taste. I’m sorry for your palettes.” Boyd shrugs and picks an apron from under the counter, putting it on without breaking eye contact.

“What would you know about taste?” Erica growls, looking him up and down.

“Only that you clearly have none.” Boyd answers nonchalantly. He pretends to get busy with the espresso machine, but really, the beginning of a blush on her cheeks is starting to get to him.

He’s a horrible person, and he doesn’t even know how he hasn’t been fired yet.

He begins to regret turning his back to Erica though when she doesn’t answer immediately, getting sudden flashes of wombat attacks from Australia’s Most Wanted, when he hears a loud dry laugh come from behind him, which has him peeking over his shoulder. He finds her leaning over the counter like it’s a goddamn free for all lounge, looking at him with the same mix of awe, confusion, and a glint of evil you’d project if you were to suddenly come face to face with motherfucking Hitler.

“I’ll bite. What do you recommend?” Her smile is too wide, her eyes too eager for comfort. Boyd gulped silently.

“Starbucks.”

Only, no. Because Beacons’ Brew might look like a rundown hole-in-the-wall kind of place, with mismatched furniture and too many Christmas lights, but it’s so exaggeratedly hipster it's clearly intentional, and none of that changes the fact that the shop has the best freaking recipes for hot chocolate and original coffees, especially when Boyd makes them. In fact, while Boyd has an imposing figure, he has no doubt that half his mass is made out of cinnamon and marshmallows.

But since he doesn’t have access to any of those, he says the next best thing:

“They’re hard to beat when it comes to clichés and blandness.”

To Boyd’s surprise, Erica laughs. It’s loud and boisterous, and Boyd finds it reminds him of how the shop’s hot chocolate has him feeling warm and – No. Is that what happens when he spends a total of five minutes in the presence of Isaac’s Shakespearian ways? Because if so, he’s firing the little shit on the spot.

This is a part-time, minimum wage, customer service job. If he starts associating it to positive connotations, putting it in _poetry_ of all things, he might as well sign himself up to Eichen House right away.

Also, he refuses to consider Erica’s role in that equation.

“You lost the key to the storage closet, didn’t you?” Erica asks, batting her eyelashes prettily.

Kill him now.

“How-I mean, what? Why-” Boyd stammers, pushing his dark-rimmed glasses higher up his nose, and Erica grins wider.

“I’m friends with Cora.” And damn, that was the girl Boyd had been hired to replace. They’d never met, but of course Erica’s all-encompassing social network includes the single worker in the history of the shop with less faux-blissful client cheer than Boyd himself.

“…No.” He answers, glaring harder at her. In response, she simply drapes herself across the counter and closes her eyes, smiling smugly. She mhmms condescendingly, looking pleased to have won the argument. “Also, that really unhygienic.”

“You’ll wash it when I’m gone.”

“Please tell me that’s sometime soon?” Boyd deadpans, to which Erica squints her eyes up at him.

“And take you out of your misery? Never.” She laughed, the corner of her eyes crinkling. “Also, haven’t you heard that the client is always right? The client is king? Come on, I want you to do everything in your power to please me. You wouldn’t want a complaint, would you?”

It’s not much of a threat, especially since Erica claims to know Cora. The wall the bosses covered with the complaints made against that girl still stands proudly in the backroom, giving Boyd hope that he won’t have to succumb to the blank stare and Joker smile that seems to doom all customer-burdened jobs. On the other hand, Boyd doesn’t think his bosses would be too pleased if he picks Erica up and throws her out into Main Street’s traffic.

In his defense, there really isn’t much traffic this early in the morning anyway.

“I’m just saying, Greenberg picks his nose and closing after him was Stilinski, and unless you trust him to have done all his duties, which includes wiping the counter-” Erica rises up in a flash, wiping her face and glaring at him.

“You’re a dick.” She spits out.

“Don’t worry, I heard leather washes out easy.” Because that’s literally all Erica ever wears, except apparently today. Boyd is pretty sure the extent of leather in Erica’s wardrobe is bordering on obscene, actually. Maybe she’s a leather fetishist? Boyd doesn’t judge her. No really. In fact, he’s convinced everyone is at least a little bit of one themselves. Maybe he is too.

And no, it has nothing to do with the fact that Erica wears said leather. Just that, as a general rule, everyone is either a little kinky, or a psychopath. Boyd is still hoping she isn’t the latter.

“Ah, so coffee boy knows my face, my drink and my clothes. Obsessed are we? Isn’t whatever low-level community college you’re attending interesting enough to keep your attention off high school girls?”

Ouch. Not to the comeback, that is. No, that part he’s actually impressed about. He’s heard better ones, especially from her, but on the other hand it’s four in the morning and Boyd is withholding her coffee, so he’s surprised she can muster up as much lyrical animosity as Boyd can at the moment. Also, had he actually been a college loser, he would have taken her statement like a slap to the face.

He still does, though, but only because of the fact that while Boyd knows he’s pretty low on the totem pole of the high school food chain, he didn’t think he was invisible enough to not even be remembered.

“Actually, I know those because I care a little too much about things that aren’t lipstick and actually listen to the orders people pass.” Boyd ignores the way his jaw moves more tightly around his words. “Also, you’re in like half of my classes, and in an environment where kids are still so uncomfortable with sexuality that a quarter of them spend their time in the closet, it’s hard not to notice when one of them walks around dressed like the entire spectrum of the BDSM experience.”

Erica blinks.

“You go to Beacon High?” Erica’s eyes slide up and down his frame in disbelief, and Boyd refuses to shuffle uncomfortably. No matter how many points he marked by insulting her clothes and drink, he can’t _not_ feel like he lost this match when she won’t even remember him once she walks out the door.

“Don’t worry, we’ve already established that your sense of observation and taste left a lot to be desired.” He forces out.

Thankfully, Isaac comes in at that moment.

“Hello baby, guess who’s back for some more lovin’?” Isaac sings out, head thrown back and arms spread to the heavens. He stays that way, spread eagle like a goddamn remake of a one-man Titanic movie for a few moments, but at the chilling silence in the room, he seems to decide that acting like an actual, decent human being is a better idea and drops his arms. Neither Boyd nor Erica have broken eye contact, but when Boyd gestures towards the back room, Isaac hurries to comply.

“Why are you such a dick?”Erica asks sincerely, not even looking upset at all. And because Boyd is an asshole, he shrugs and goes back to start on her drink, humming some song a tad too cheerful that he must’ve heard on the radio recently. He just hopes to god it isn’t something too embarrassing.

“I know right?” Isaac gushes, standing awkwardly to the side as he watches Boyd’s every move like it’s the new chapter of the Star Wars series. “He’s such an asshole. I used to think it was me, but now I think that’s just how he expresses his passion for life, just like Shakira does with her hips and Britney Spears does though lip-synching.”

Boyd’s eyes rolls up so fast he feels the beginning of a headache starting in his temples.

“Isaac. Shut up.” Boyd sings out with fake cheer, just because he knows it freaks the blonde out and Boyd is on a roll today. Indeed, he hears a whimper coming from Isaac’s general direction and suppresses a grin. He takes the cup of freshly made coffee and turns, but doesn’t even have time to set it on the counter before Erica snatches it up.

“You, sir, redefine bitterness.” Erica says, but she seems to find it more amusing than insulting, much to Boyd’s general confusion. For all the shit he’s witnessed, he never really got the grasp of what Erica’s deal is. He soon gets distracted, though, by the little twitch of her nose as she takes a sip of her drink.

“What?” Boyd asks, crossing his arms. He tries not to feel self-conscious when he notices Erica glancing at his biceps, and reaches up to adjust his glasses.

“Nothing,” She says, smirking dangerously. “But you should be careful. I think your bitterness is slipping into your work. That, or you’re the one who should be getting training, not blondie here.”

_No._

Nada.

Insult his personality, he can take it. Call him a dick, an asshole, forget him, he could deal. But fuck if Boyd’s coffees aren’t better than unicorns and booze rolled up in a sugar-coated blunt. His drinks are magic, okay? Harry Freaking Potter has nothing him.

“Wait a second now-” But Erica’s already ripping a packet of sugar open and dumping it in her coffee, cackling her way out of the door.

It’s not his fault she likes liquidized compost before heading to what he assumes is swimming practice. Of course it’s going to taste like crap, but his version is going to be the _best version_ of that crap.

He just needs to show her-

“What are you eating?” Boyd asks slowly, staring at Isaac with cold, emotionless eyes. Isaac freezes like those annoying squirrels that think you won’t see them if they stop moving, before he eventually decides he can’t escape this. With a gulp, he swallows the bite he’s got stuffed in his mouth and stares innocently back at Boyd.

“A muffin.” He whispers reverently, licking the white frosting from his lips.

“We don’t sell that kind of muffin.” Boyd states, not even making a question out of it. Isaac slowly shakes his head. “Where did you get the muffin?”

“I ran to Stiles’ house and got there sooner than I expected,” He explains, eyes growing wider. “So I had time to stop at McDonald’s on the way back.”

Boyd then finds out that Isaac is a really fast runner. It’s impressive really.

“You mean,” Boyd yells as he jumps over a chair Isaac throws his way. “That while I was here trying to run a coffee shop _without coffee_ -” He catches a table Isaac overturns as he screeches and dodges away. “You ‘had time to stop at McDonald’s’ for a snack!?”

“Please don’t kill me!” Isaac pants from across the counter, and when Boyd reaches over it to try and grab him, he sidesteps it easily. “When I get too low on sugars my cuticles start acting up – wait! – I’m sorry okay? I’ll do anything, just don’t kill me!”

Boyd reaches across the counter from where he’s back to standing next to the cash register for show, but he gives up fast after that. Instead, he turns and walks a little ways further and opens the oven door before sticking his own head in it.

“Fine then. Do me a favour and start the oven. I need to be killed and cremated before I get to experience any more embarrassment that’s to unfold from this god awful day.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Isaac rolls his eyes, and isn’t that ironic? Who’s Isaac, the reincarnation of the still-living-Celine Dion, to tell Boyd to be less dramatic? “Erica’s nice, it couldn’t have been that bad.”

“Erica’s a bitch.” Boyd answers, head still in the oven as he stares at the back grill, wondering if he could fit in the space and effectively stop this conversation from happening right about now.

“True. But so are you. Must have been nice.” Isaac pats Boyd awkwardly on the back, a little too close to his rear and Boyd finally pulls out to push him away. “Seriously, I’m sad I missed it.”

“I’m still angry at you.” Boyd looks down at Isaac, who takes two step back in fear. “And I know exactly how you’re going to pay me back.” He states, a grin tugging at his lips.

Of course, it leaves when he realises Erica never paid for her coffee.

Damn it.

*****

“Boyd, I can’t handle it anymore.” Isaac moans _loudly_ as he collapses across from Boyd at the table, causing the students sitting nearby in the too crowded cafeteria to turn their way and for Boyd to shrink sufficiently in his seat. He doesn’t need any more reasons for people to find him weird.  “Erica has spent all weekend sitting at the corner table watching everyone ordering like some paranoid hawk. I swear, Cyclops has nothing on her laser gaze.” He mimes rays coming out his eyes with his fingers and Boyd hides his face beneath his own.

“Don’t –” Boyd whispers.

“Oh no, honey buns, you aren’t shutting me up so easily. Look, I’m pretty sure Erica had a swimming competition last night, but instead of practicing she spent the days leading up to it sitting in a coffee shop, freaking out. You’re ruining her life.”

“Don’t exaggerate.” Boyd rolls his eyes but relaxes, noticing that everyone else seems to have lost interest.

“Fine. You think I’m exaggerating? Then I’ll tell her you’re the one preparing her mystery coffees, and then you can deal with her nagging.” Isaac raises his voice and crosses his arms, looking smug as Boyd shoots across the table to put a hand across the boy’s mouth.

“You wouldn’t.” Boyd hisses. Isaac licks his hand in retribution.

“Op’ cfosh uh phoush” He mumbles into Boyd’s palm, spitting in it and really, Boyd doesn’t know why he didn’t see it coming. This is Isaac after all. Still, he stays frozen for a few seconds before feeling his face shape back into its default setting of unimpressed, letting his hand drop to Isaac’s shoulder to wipe his hand.

“Fine. Maybe you would, but you shouldn’t.” Boyd sighs, sitting back down and going for his sandwich, hoping Isaac would do the same. No such luck.

“But WHY? Why are you doing any of it?” Isaac asks, and isn’t that the million question? Because in truth, even Boyd doesn’t really know.

All he knows is that he asked Isaac to let him prepare a drink for Erica the next time she came into the shop and have Isaac serve it to her so she wouldn’t be suspicious. Which Isaac did. And that should have been the end of that.

Because no matter how much of a dick Boyd is, he isn’t that much of an asshole. Or at least, he isn’t a cruel asshole. So no, he didn’t get Isaac to serve rat poison to Erica, even though the idea did occur to him. Quite the opposite, actually.

Rather, he’d made a drink he thought she might like, based on her sweet tooth and how she occasionally treats herself to a maple-strawberry Morning Love (another stupid name for another one of the Brew’s products, only this time intended to represent a cookie rather than a drink). He’d hope she would like it, admit her previous coffee was tasteless in comparison, and that way Boyd could jump in and not only claim back his rightful title as genius coffee maker that she’d put in question, but also use her own words against her to prove that her taste really was that horrible, making him win that particular argument.

Boyd needs to get himself a life.

So what if he’s a petty person, though? Sue him. It was an awesome plan, and he had Isaac cooperating, so really he had nothing to lose.

Only, he never went through with it. What actually happened, was that Isaac gave her the coffee, saying someone had bought it for her, and Erica had taken a very cautious sip before he eyes had blown like saucers. She’d gushed about the drink, saying how perfect it was, and Boyd wanted nothing more than to turn around and claim authorship for it, but then she’d asked for the name of it so she could order it next time and –

And, basically, Boyd is a horrible person.

At that moment, he for some reason decided a long con was a better idea than a moment’s boasting and never owned up. Instead, he listened to Isaac slowly succumb to panic as he tried to explain to Erica that no, he hadn’t been the one to prepare the drink and no, he didn’t know what was in it.

Boyd thought it would maybe frustrate Erica, the not knowing, but instead it drove her _up the wall._ Like, Looney Toons smoke-coming-out-of-her-ears mad. And Boyd, being Boyd, couldn’t resist slipping in her special order at least once a week at random, through various employees, in order to keep her on her toes.

In short, Isaac is right. Boyd is probably, very mildly and superficially, fucking up Erica’s life.

He doesn’t feel bad for a second.

“Because I live off the misery of lesser beings?” Boyd ventures, to which Isaac snorts.

“That first part wouldn’t actually surprise me, if it wasn’t for the fact that Erica being in the run for Prom Queen while you spend your spare time studying advanced crap on astronomy and jacking off automatically makes her a cooler being than you.”

“You have a shallow, shallow sense of worth.” Boyd mocks.

“Like I’m not right.” Isaac shrugs and starts pushing food into his mouth, automatically silencing himself. Or it should have. “Chees yuwr chperiure ing evriweigh.”

“It’s a sad, sad day when I realize I’ve spent enough time with you that that last sentence actually made sense to me. I’m out.” Boyd says as he grabs his stuff and bolts before Isaac can swallow his bite and argue some more.

He almost feels bad for leaving Isaac to eat alone, until he realizes he’s fucking projecting and that Isaac will never have to eat lunch alone, it’s Boyd who’s never had someone to sit with. Which is fine. He never complained.

Only, he’s starting to get whiplash from having two people seeking his company these days.

The first, not quite surprisingly, is Isaac. Sure, Boyd kind of expected Isaac to ignore him once on school grounds like he does everything and anything that might clump his lashes or make his hair look flat, but then again, the boy looks like he’s on  mission to ruin Boyd’s life, and for that, he needs to be an active part of it. Cue Isaac fluttering between his usual table of friends, who look like they dressed using the Drama Club’s costume department, and Boyd’s castaway island that is usually conveniently located where there happens to be the most shadows, like some romantic lead from a sketchy romance novel that he most definitely doesn’t belong in. Boyd tries not to encourage it, because screw him, that hot chocolate warmth metaphor is bubbling up again and Boyd knows no friend in the world can compare nor replace a good cup of hot chocolate.

So no, Boyd won’t admit it’s nice. And he really doesn’t understand why Isaac hasn’t given up yet, but Isaac’s always been a weird fellow. The magenta scarf and lemon sweater vest he’s wearing today say as much.

The second person, though, both makes more sense yet took him much more by surprise. Really, of all people, Erica’s pretty much the last person he would have expected to strike up a conversation with him.

Well, unlike Isaac, she doesn’t often do it in school. But, at least, it’s clear that she recognizes him now. On a few occasions, he noticed her staring at him when he looked up from taking notes or after answering one of the teacher’s questions. It made him fluster the first two or three times, and he’d pretend to be looking at the time or adjust his glasses, but now, he just raises an eyebrow or rolls his eyes, knowing that if the staring meant that she was planning something, he would be feeling the consequences of it by now.

She does talk to him though, mostly at the coffee shop and occasionally she accosts him in the hallways. Well, interrogating would be more like it. She doesn’t ever bulldoze over their typical banter, but she always manages to steer to conversation to the subject of the mystery person who keeps buying her drinks, for whom she stalks the coffee shop in order to get a glimpse of. At least, that’s Boyd best guess as to why it feels like every time he works, Erica is there to annoy him.

Also, there’s the damn recipe, which even though Boyd keeps saying he has yet to be asked to prepare it, still has her continuously losing her patience with him.

In retribution, he had Greenberg tell her that her mystery person had left her a drink, only to give her a black Americano. The way she eagerly gulped it down before spitting it back up had been priceless, and Boyd had barely managed to refrain from laughing out loud from his hidden spot in the corner of the sitting room.

That’s pretty much when Erica stopped eagerly looking around for the drink buyer and started becoming paranoid about it, having been conditioned only to be broken down. Boyd tried to feel bad, he really did, but he really isn’t a nice person.

“Hey, Boyd!” Speaking of the devil. Boyd keeps rummaging through his locker, not feeling all that sociable today.

Suddenly, blond curls and red lipstick sneak up next to him to grin widely around too white teeth.

“What.” Boyd asks, keeping his eyes on his books. He doesn’t have enough arms to keep everything balanced, but before he knows it, a delicate hand snatches up one of his textbooks before it can hit the floor while another comes up to his face to stop his glasses from slipping off. He can feel his cheeks start to warm up, and though logically he knows that it most definitely isn’t visible, he still finds himself sticking his head deeper into his locker.

Now, if only someone would come along to close the locker door on his head and end his suffering already.

“Nothing, I just wanted a taste of your lovely personality to brighten up the rest of my day.” Erica answers innocently, batting her lashes. _Here we go again._

“No,” Boyd closes his door and stalks off, Erica unsurprisingly on his heel. It gets less attention from other students then it did in the beginning, but still, their side looks continue to annoy him. He’s used to people getting out of his way, especially since his last growth spurt, but with Erica besides him, it’s like freakin’ Moses slipped into his body, and no – his life is complicated enough with God placing landmines and Erica-shaped hurricanes in his life, probably placing bets on how long he’ll last along the way – which, by the way, is not going to be long if she keeps looking for reasons to adjust his glasses, distracting him constantly – he doesn’t want to add Seventh Sense hearing and creepy lordly hallucinogens along the way.

Hanging out with Isaac is already like a bad 'shroom trip, complete with its own six foot tall gremlin dressed in too many outfits and not enough public decency. If Boyd spontaneously forms a divine relationship with our lord and saviour, he’s asking for a refund on life.

“Come on, just tell me who he is.” Erica purrs, hand on the back of his sweater.

That’s another thing. Since the Americano incident, Erica’s inquiries took a slight turn for the worst. For a moment there, Boyd thought she’d stopped caring about the coffee at all, since she only asked about the person. Which, for some reason, she constantly refers to as a _he._

“How would I know?” Boyd answers, rolling his eyes and shrugging her off. Not in the least bit annoyed, she steps in front of him and starts walking backwards, a knowing smile on her face. Boyd can’t keep his eyes up there, though. And no, that isn’t a reference to her cleavage. Not that it’s a bad cleavage. It’s decent. Nice. He’d probably describe it as okay, maybe. If he thought about Erica’s boobs at all.

He’s eyes are glued to the ground, though, which Erica is navigating, backwards, in neck-breaking heels. The woman is insane, and probably the scariest woman he’s ever met, judging by the cold sweats he’s feeling as he watches her step near pencils and papers without worrying about tripping in the least.

“I bet he’s handsome, and that he _likes_ me.” She sing-songs, making Boyd groan again. Really, if Isaac doesn’t make him drown an exaggerated dose of Red Bull and slip himself into a caffeinated coma, Erica will. Seriously, did no one have dignity anymore? What’s with all the singing and moaning?

“Or maybe he’s just playing one on you.” Boyd shrugs, eyes still on the floor. It doesn’t prevent him from seeing Erica raise her hand as she reaches for his glasses _again_ , and he slaps it away.

Erica mumbles something under her breath, but Boyd only manages to hear something like “sounds like someone I know” before it actually happens. Someone’s left their school bag in the middle of the hallway, because everyone here is an animal or halfway to the Coo Coo station, and Erica stumbles on it.

The only reason Boyd catches her in time is that a) he was expecting it to happen, no one can look and act with that much perfect order without pain being involved and b) his next class is History, and he hates history, ergo, he doesn’t think twice about dropping his books. Had it been Physics or Math, though, he probably would have buried his guilt of letting her fall under the joy of, you know, her falling.

Still, it’s not because he stops her from most-likely decapitating herself on some locker that he doesn’t feel weird about it, and it only takes seconds for her to be pulled back upright and for him to turn his back on her to pick up his textbooks.

By the time he finally turns back towards her, he’s kind of annoyed that while he’s stopped her from pulling an Alice and falling so far that, due to her heels, she probably would have made it to Wonderland, she didn’t even bother to help pick up his stuff. He waits for a second, hoping to at least get a thank you, but all he gets are wide eyes, furrowed brows and a blush he swears wasn’t there a few minutes ago.

Fine then. It’s not like Erica and Boyd’s relationship has been full of politeness and courtesy as of yet anyway. He rolls his eyes and shoulders past her, pretending not to still feel the warmth of her skin along his arms and chest as her walks to class.

It’s just, one moment she’s sassing him like one of the best, the next she’s helping him at his locker, and now when he helps her, she pulls a Mafioso’s silent treatment and intense eye contact combo, and Boyd doesn’t know what to do with that.

Girls.

*****

“Now, you can’t run away.” A voice says, and Boyd hits his head on the counter in his rush to stand up. It hurts like a bitch, and for a second there Boyd thinks he might have to deal with those hallucinations after all. Only now, its coffee beans and the lights that presently brighten up the place that dance in front of his eyes.

“Do you really want to test that theory? Because I really, really don’t like this job enough to not throw it away in the face of imminent death.” Boyd glares at Erica, but for once, she doesn’t look amused at his pain. Instead, she glares down at where Boyd is dutifully wiping the counter.

Still, it’s five minutes to closing time and anyone who’s ever worked in a store that handles customers knows that if someone comes in within the last ten minutes of the day, you have to hate them on principle. Like, someone kind and wise and honest, hell, motherfucking Oprah could come through the door, but if they come in as you’re turning the lock? They’ll probably end up in Hell tending to Satan’s appendage in their afterlife.

That’s the rules. Boyd doesn’t make them.

So while Erica doesn’t _look_ like she’s here to keep him from going home on time, since she isn’t sporting that sinfully righteous smile she usually has on, Boyd is still very thoroughly _done._

“Imminent death? Dramatic much?” Erica says, and no, when Boyd has people like Erica and Isaac in his life, he doesn’t get to be told that he’s a drama queen. That’s not how the Morning Love, maple-strawberry cookie crumbles.

“Well, sorry to hurt your feelings, but that’s usually what your presence inspires.” Boyd shrugs, looking over her shoulder at the slightly crooked clock. Four minutes.

“Bullshit.” Erica says, and what?

“What?”

“Bullshit,” She says, stalking forward and standing at the counter. Boyd throws his head back and groans loudly. “That’s not how you actually feel, is it? You just like to pretend it is.”

And yes, maybe Boyd is a little bit of a drama queen when it comes to the subject of human interaction. Shut up, it’s not a problem.

“So maybe I’m not seconds away from slipping cyanide in your order. You’re still a pain in my ass-”

“I’m not. You just like to mess with me, just like I like to rile you up. Something I’m grown enough to admit.” Erica forces, and Boyd has no clue where this is going, only that the caramel of her eyes is practically set aflame by the passion of her statement.

Which, let the record show, Boyd has no idea what any of it means.

“Okay?” He tries.

“That’s all it is, isn’t it? You mess with me, and it’s not actually disdain. It’s like with the coffee, and how you said yourself that someone’s messing with me, but it’s clearly out of affection.”

Boyd has officially lost where this conversation is going.

“What coffee? Are you ordering something?” Boyd asks. Three minutes left, and clearly they aren’t out of the wood any time soon.

“The Secret Santa of coffee, keep up.” She snapped her fingers in his face, and _oh._ That. “You said I had horrible taste, I challenged you on it, and suddenly I get free coffees that are fitted for my taste?”

Boyd tries not to fidget, but it’s a close thing. He is so, so busted right now he’s tempted to make a run for it.

“I know what you’re thinking, but I’ve mentioned your lack of pride in the beverage department to many people, so…”

“See, I thought of that, but then why wouldn’t they own up to it? I’ve spent so much time in here raving about needing to know that they must be aware of how it’s driving me mad, right? Unless, of course, messing with me was their goal all along.” Erica then sets her eyes on Boyd and waits.

Boyd has two choices. Admit defeat, claim ownership of the joke and have Erica murder him brutally and without mercy, or, he can be an idiot and push as much as possible so that he can enjoy watching Erica fret for however more days he can manage to earn for himself. The thought also crosses his mind that the longer he keeps the joke going, the longer Erica will willingly seek conversation with him, but he quickly shoves that to the back of his brain.

“So let me get this straight.” He’s a coward. And such a dick it isn’t even funny. “You’re saying that you think I’ve been, what, taking the hard earned money that I’ve managed to accumulate from making coffee and spending it on more coffees that I myself have to make, but without pay this time, in order to give to you? And that I’ve been willingly socializing with other people, most of whom I’ve never spoken to and who have no reason to help me, in order to get them to secretly deliver my pranks to you? Which aren’t pranks at all, since you like them. Which you have told me several times? You think I’d go through all that trouble and money to mess with you?”

Yes. Yes, he absolutely would.

But clearly Erica undermines his level of pettiness, because a frown settles her face and for the first time since the magical Grand Slam metamorphosis of junior year, she falters, looking uncertain.

“No, I mean yes-” She stumbles over her words. “I mean, not just because you’re messing with me- just, the reason you’re messing with me…” But she quiets down, face slightly fallen. Boyd can’t help but think he’s missing something crucial.

“Erica, it’s nearly midnight.” He says, and shit, it’s true. He’s late for his close, damn it. “Go home, and don’t worry about it.” He knows at this point that he’s crossed a line, and he also knows that there wouldn’t be any more free drinks, not if it got to Erica that much.

And really, he has no idea why it affects him so much. That’s what he wanted, isn’t it? Only, no, it isn’t. Because for some reason Erica takes his coffee-giving much more seriously than he’d thought she would, and looks more sad than pissed or annoyed at his very transparent denial.

Boyd is so, so confused.

Not as much, though, as he is when he finds himself wondering what he could do for her instead, and realizes he’ll miss giving her something to smile about.

He walks her to the door, and neither say anything. Still, once there, Erica looks out at the street and doesn’t actually walk out.

“You’re running for Prom Queen, right?” Boyd asks suddenly, and whoa, small talk is not in his repertoire. For some reason, though, while hearing himself say it actually makes him cringe, he doesn’t mind the quiet conversation, so different from their usual ones.

“Yes?” She straightens out immediately and looks at him expectantly, eyes wide.

Boyd sighs and deflates at the sight of it, realizing he most likely messed up again. She’s probably anticipating another insult or something, and for some reason, Boyd isn’t up for it tonight.

“Then you probably have things to take care of, and other stuff to think about. Go home. Don’t worry about it anymore. Focus on prom, and school and swimming practice. I’ll… I’ll tell Isaac to tell the others to… not, you know, do what they’ve been doing.” Boyd sighs.

“That’s not what I wan- you know what? Whatever.” Erica huffs, and finally leaves the building. Boyd knows he said the wrong thing when he locks the door and feels like he’s locked his heart out in the cold along the way.

.

Erica’s back in the shop bright and early the next morning. And by bright and early, Boyd means that she’s back before the sun itself even had time to get out of bed and take its morning piss. Though speaking of piss, Erica has it down path.

She looks beyond pissed. She looks enraged.

“I’m done playing games, you asshole.” She says as she marches up to the counter, and whether it’s her words or the dark circles under her eyes that make her look near death, it's enough to scare the only other customer right out the door.

Poor Mrs. Pumperstill, Boyd thinks. He knows the feeling.

“What game?” Boyd asks. Erica groans.

“You give me free coffee, you banter with me relentlessly, you know my favorite drinks and flavours, you bring up Prom, you _like_ me but I keep waiting for you to say something and you never do.” Erica pants, her breathing hard and heavy. Boyd might be a little bit distracted.

He blinks.

“Oh my god,” Erica groans out. Boyd reaches over to pat her on the back.

“Look-” Boyd tries.

“Isaac told me the coffee was you. He told me three weeks ago when I first started thinking it was you. The boy was remarkably easy to break.” Erica confesses. Boyd’s mind goes blank for a second before checking back in. So Erica’s known for the coffee for weeks and he’s still alive. Why is he still alive?’Also, why is Isaac still alive? Clearly he’d be better off dead.

“Why did you keep asking me then?” Boyd asks. Erica rolls her eyes impatiently.

“Because I kept waiting for you to say something. Some confession or declaration or something, but you never followed through.”

“Declaration?” Give Boyd a break, it’s four in the freaking morning.

“Yes. Because _you_ like _me_.” Erica says, leaning forward, and Boyd – Boyd can’t really deny that without outright lying, and from the looks of Erica’s accusations and the fact that she’s known all along, he can’t actually lie to save his life. Still, to have it said out loud, he didn’t realize how true it was until he hears it slipping from Erica’s lips.

“I- The coffees weren’t a declaration. I really was messing with you.” Coward. Coward. But really, have someone shove your own feelings in your face and try not to automatically go on the defensive! You’ll see it’s not as easy as it looks.

Luckily, Erica is done with letting Boyd set the pace.

“I’m sure it was, because you’re you and I’m me and this is what we do. But you mean to tell that if you’d been trying to get under Isaac’s skin, you would have bought him coffees? Custom made to his taste?” Boyd can’t help the grimace he makes, because he doesn’t even know what Isaac drinks to begin with. “See? So why didn’t you say anything?”

“What did you expect? Until I started this crap, I’d had classes with you since middle school and you didn’t even recognize me. What was I supposed to say?” He didn’t realize how badly it had hurt him until he feels his throat tighten around his words. Erica doesn’t falter, though her eyes soften a bit as she reaches both hands upwards. Instead of fixing his glasses, though, a hand delicately lands on each side of his face.

“Boyd, look at me, and tell me you don’t actively try to be invisible.” Erica has a point, of course she does, and Boyd knew it before she even brought it up. He’d tried to push her away the first time they’d met, after all, like he did everyone else. He’s just shocked that she noticed that much about him. “But I see you now, okay? And I can’t unsee you. You’re beautiful.” She says the last part softly.

One of her hands falls to his shoulder while the other goes to tug on a strand of her own hair, suddenly looking shy. And for the first time, Boyd sees how self-conscious she is about the whole thing.

“I’m standing here confused, and you tell me the one thing I already know? Of course I’m stunning. Very unhelpful to point it out, though, Reyes.” Boyd remarks. A giggle bursts out of Erica and she rolls her eyes fondly.

“Shut it, _Vernon_.” Boyd will have to kill Isaac, preferably very, very painfully, and maybe even using a plane, a train, a head on collision and a socially overcompensating and undignified pancake. Before he can plan it in detail, though, Erica’s grip on his shirt tightens and she pulls him forward, pushing her lips to his and making him forget about how Isaac can’t apparently keep his mouth shut.

They kiss like they do everything else, passionately, actively testing each other’s dominance and fighting for control in a back and forth game of power and attraction. It fills Boyd with sparks of warmth, and –

No. While if there ever was a moment in Boyd’s life that warranted poetry it would be this one, he’s still not ready to see his job or anything related to it, drinks included, as worthy of lyrical comparison.

Erica is better than a stupid cup of coffee, anyway.

“Wait -” Boyd draws back and Erica honest to god whines, making Boyd grin. “How does me bringing up Prom have anything to do with your illumination about our beautiful, mutual, reciprocated attraction?” Boyd barely remembers asking her about her running for Prom Queen, but clearly it meant something.

“It doesn’t. It just has something to do with missed opportunities and the declarations or questions I’ve been waiting for, that you’ve yet to make or ask.” To Boyd’s blank stare, Erica huffs and pulls him closer. “Stupid boy. Good thing I’m here now.”

This time, he’s the one that leans in to shut her up.

“Hello honey bunny! I’m – woah, called it! Stiles owes me twenty!” Isaac whistles as he comes in, and Boyd rests his forehead on Erica’s.

“Do you mind if I-?” Boyd starts. Erica smirks and reaches across the counter, grabbing a spatula and pushes it in his hand.

“Before cracking and telling me it was you, Isaac tried to convince me Greenberg was my secret admirer – and yes, shut up, that’s exactly what you and your gifts were – and that the nuts you put in the coffee were actually boogers. Go make me proud.” Erica says, pressing a last, fierce kiss to his lips before setting him free on Isaac.

Isaac was fast, but Boyd had Erica’s affection pumping through his veins, so the little shit was no match.

   

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> Feel free to drop by Tumblr (ghost-of-erica-reyes) anytime!


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